Theatre of Conflict
by auberus11
Summary: WWII era AU.  Features Sirius, Remus, James and Peter, as well as a great deal of history and politics. Eventual SiriusxRemus slash.
1. May of 1937

Residence of the Minister of Magic - London, England  
10 May 1937, 1015 hrs

The home of the Minister of Magic reposed quite serenely in a place that should not have existed. Its location, between Nos. 10 and 11 Downing Street, had been chosen in 1913 by then-Minister of Magic 'Mad' Cornelius Abernathy after he'd burned the original residence to the ground while eluding a highly determined pair of assassins(1).

There had been strenuous objections to the placement of this building in the heart of Muggle London, but by the time Abernathy's removal from office had been effected(2), the residence had been completed and there was no sense in building another, especially after all the trouble that the Muggle Relations people had been through to hide it. Also, by that time the Great War had broken out, and keeping an eye on the Muggles had become a priority for the Ministry.

By the time the war had ended even Augustus Malfoy, the most outspoken of Abernathy's opponents, had become used to its location. The wizarding community had not involved itself in the War, but the constant sweeps for spies and saboteurs had made life more difficult than it had been in the pre-War years. Members of the Muggle Relations Department had been forced to retrieve more than one witch or wizard whose "suspicious behavior" had gotten them locked in a Muggle prison under suspicion of being an enemy agent.

_And it's probably about to start all over again_, Nick Prewett thought grimly, as he handed his coat and hat to Donaldson, the butler, who had been at 10 1/2 Downing Street since Mad Abernathy himself had run the place.

Donaldson gave him a stiff nod, and intoned: "The Minister is expecting you, Mr. Prewett."

"Wonderful," Nick muttered.

If Donaldson heard, he gave no sign of it. "This way, sir," he said, and led the way to the Minister's study.

Nick had never met Marcus Scrimgeour before. The Minister was a busy man, and Nick's own position in the Department of Muggle Relations was far too minor for them to cross paths. Under ordinary circumstances, Nick would have had to advance several degrees in Ministry hierarchy to even see him at the office, let alone receive an invitation to his residence, but then, circumstances were far from normal.

Nick had been angling for this meeting for months because his sense of duty forbade him from doing anything else, but Ian McGillis, his immediate supervisor, had told him that he had precious little chance of getting the Minister's ear.

McGillis had been even more surprised than Nick himself to get Scrimgeour's note summoning Nick to a ten o'clock meeting at the Downing Street address.

"For Merlin's sake," McGillis had said, "don't mouth off to the old bastard. I know you were a bloody Gryffindor, and therefore have no fear of man nor sodding beast, but Scrimegour's got no patience for upstart junior Ministry officials who can't remember that they're not prefects any longer. No, no," as Nick opened his mouth to protest, "I know you don't mean to, lad, but when that damnable temper of yours is up, you have a hell of a lot of trouble distinguishing what you can say from what you bleedin' should."

Ian McGillis was a bluff, dark-haired Scotsman with the foulest mouth Nick had ever come across, who could nevertheless talk as smoothly as a schooled diplomat when addressing a superior.

He was a good ten years older than Nick was, and built along the same slender lines; nevertheless, he'd been a star Beater on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team while at Hogwarts, even playing for the Glasgow Goblins for a few seasons before a fall from a broom had injured his knee beyond even magical repair.

He'd come to work for the Department of Muggle Relations almost directly afterward, and had proven to be quite good at his job, to the surprise of a great many of the people who were familiar with his personality and vocabulary. He was responsible for interfacing between senior Ministry members and the Deparment's agents in the field, such as Nick, who kept an eye on Muggle doings, and, in fact, should have been the one to get the meeting with Scrimegour. McGillis didn't care about such things, though, which was one of the reasons he was such a good man to work for.

Donaldson led Nick to an ornate anteroom, and motioned to a seat. "Minister Scrimgeour will be with you shortly," he said, his voice breaking in on Nick's reverie, before slipping through the carved wooden doors at the far end of the room.

Nick was too nervous to sit, so he paced instead. He was a tall, slim young man of 23, with short, reddish-blond hair and good cheekbones, and his pale blue eyes held a worried look that was too old for the rest of his face. Women found him handsome; men found him likable, and he'd been able so far to get through life on a combination of intelligence and charm - neither of which was likely to impress Scrimgeour. He paused to straighten his hair in the mirror.

"Don't look so nervous, dear," it told him. "He doesn't bite, you know." Nick stepped away from the mirror, wishing that it was only Scrimgeour that had him worried.

The wooden doors opened, and Donaldson made his glum reappearance. "The Minister will see you now," he said in solemn tones, and Nick went through the doors to Scrimgeour's office, trying not to look so nervous.

Marcus Scrimgeour was a heavyset man with greying hair and dark, purposeful eyes. He had been an Auror, long years ago, and there was still the telltale alertness in his face that spoke of a man who had once seen combat. His mouth was grim, and his bushy eyebrows nearly met, so ferociously was he scowling. He was not alone in the room. Harold Bagman, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation was there, as was Crastor Moody, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Tiberius Malfoy, whose position in the Ministry was as nebulously defined as it was influential, was lounging gracefully in one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. Nick had gone to school with his eldest son Julius, though they'd been in different houses and detested one another on general principle. Still, Tiberius Malfoy was no fool, and Nick was momentarily grateful for his presence. It wasn't only his fortune that had made him so influential in the Ministry. He also gave unvarnished, unbiased advice that was, according to rumor, worth its weight in gold.

"Young Prewett," Scrimgeour said. "I knew your father. Went to Hogwarts with him."

"Yes, sir," Nick said.

"Are you as bull-headed as he was?" Scrimgeour asked bluntly, and Nick noticed Crastor Moody hiding a smile.

"I try to be, sir," Nick said.

"I'd say so. When I requested a meeting with you, my office told me you'd been pestering them for four months trying to set up one of your own." His sudden scowl was fierce. "I apologize for that, my boy. I had... words with them about that."

Nick blinked, trying not to let his surprise show on his face. _Scrimgeour_ had requested this meeting? That fact, in addition to the top brass standing around in the office, made him wonder if his worries were indeed about to be taken seriously.

"Nevertheless," Scrimgeour continued, "You're here now. Why don't you tell us what you wanted to talk about?" After one nervous glance at the notables in the room, Nick squared his shoulders and began.

"Sir - _Sirs_, I'm not sure how informed you are on the situation in Germany," he began, looking around the room.

"For the moment, Mr. Prewett, let us assume that we are rather under-informed," said Tiberius Malfoy silkily.

"Yes, sir. Alright, then. The Muggle leader there is a man by the name of Adolf Hitler. He and his group, who call themselves Nazis, took power very suddenly, and with a tremendous upswell of popular support from the common people. His internal policies are bad enough, though I shan't go into them here, as they do not directly concern us, but he is making certain moves that we might want to keep an eye on.

"For one thing, he's making very threatening noises on the Continent, and it looks very much as though he's preparing for war. The last time the Muggles got to fighting, it caused a great deal of inconvenience to wizards across the country. He's also highly interested in the occult, and has got Muggles scouring all of Germany looking for magical artifacts. Most of what they've found is Muggle trumpery, but he has come across a few genuine items, several of which could prove dangerous if left in his hands."

"So we contact the German Ministry," Bagman said, "and get them to reclaim the items. Nothing you've told us about is terribly serious."

"That was the main issue, sir," Nick said, "the German Ministry." Wincing at the awkwardness of his words, he pushed ahead. This was the real reason he'd been trying to talk to Scrimgeour.

"Minister Scrimgeour, I was in Berlin less than five months ago, and I had occasion to talk to several officials from the German Ministry of Magic." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "They may be wizards, sir, but they are German first, and I am more than a little concerned at the overall attitude I encountered there. I speak German, but I didn't inform them of the fact, and some of the things they let slip were... telling."

"Explain," Scrimgeour ordered.

"There were pro-Nazi sentiments voiced; even some mention of giving magical aid to Hitler in the forthcoming war, albeit without informing him of the fact."

"That is a bit more serious," Bagman allowed. "The Germans must not be allowed to risk the secrecy clause in some ridiculous Muggle war."

"It gets worse, sir," Nick said. This was the part he'd been dreading; this was what was going to get him laughed out of Scrimgeour's office and possibly the Ministry itself. "I was at one of the rallies, to see what it was like, and -" He paused.

"What is it, man?" Crastor Moody snapped.

"I saw Hansel Grindelwald. Up on the platform, with Hitler. I don't know if the Muggles could see him or not, but he was wearing a Nazi uniform."

The men around the table exploded, all of them talking at once.

"Ridiculous," Bagman began, while most of the others had some variety of the same thing to say. Only Malfoy and Scrimgeour remained silent; finally, Moody won out over the others by smacking one large hand down on the table with a great deal of force.

"_Enough!_" he said. The others fell silent.

Tiberius Malfoy's drawling voice cut through the sudden stillness.

"I do not think," he said smoothly,"that Mr. Prewett is a stupid man. Nor do I think that he is delusional. His accusation that Lord Minister Grindelwald has involved himself with the Muggle government of the country he is supposed to be running is a very serious one; a very serious one indeed. He has nothing to gain by making it, and a very great deal to lose. Many important men in this country are tied closely to Grindelwald; it would be the height of foolishness to make such an accusation without proof, or at least the ability to provide it." He paused just long enough to let his words sink in, then continued before anyone else could interrupt. "Consider, gentlemen, just why we are all here this morning."

"This is hardly the same - " Bagman began, but Malfoy cut him off.

"It is more important than anything we expected to hear, and you know it." Turning his attention back to Nick, he asked: "I assume you can be Pensieved, Prewett?"

When Nick returned from being Pensieved - a process he did not enjoy in the slightest - Scrimgeour, Bagman, Malfoy, and Moody had been joined by Alfred Mercer, his own Department head, and by Percy Longbottom, Deputy Minister of Magic. Their faces were grave, and after they'd viewed the memories in the Pensieve, the expressions around the long table were even more serious.

"Thank you, Prewett," Scrimegour said. "This was excellent work, and your persistence in trying to relay this information speaks highly of your dedication and intelligence. Donaldson will show you out, but I will see you again, you can be sure of that."

* * *

(1) The assassins had been sent by certain prominent members of the magical community as a response to Abernathy's proposal of a tax increase for the old, landed families. The assassins both perished in the fire, reportedly on purpose, so as to avoid having to tell their employers that they had failed. Abernathy, reportedly one of the most stubborn wizards ever to draw a wand, passed his tax increase anyway and chose the new location for his residence deliberately to annoy Augustus Malfoy, who was both the instigator of the assassination attempt, and a frequent visitor to the Minister's residence. (+) 

(2) It is perhaps worth noting that Abernathy's political career ended abruptly in 1919 after an unknown assailant cursed him into thinking he was a chaise lounge. His replacement, Donegal Merridan, immediately repealed the tax increase, and Abernathy died in St. Mungo's in 1925, still under the impression that he was a piece of furniture.

(+) Abernathy is quoted as having said: "I may be right next to the blasted Muggles, but it's sure to infuriate that prig Malfoy the next time he comes 'round whinging before I've had my breakfast." (Milroy Parkinson: Cornelius Abernathy: Minister and Madman, pg. 325)

* * *

_Author's Notes__: This is really being written as self-indulgence. I've always been fascinated by politics, and the idea of a WWII-era AU has been in my head for years. Some characters from the books will make an appearance, though in AU form; namely, Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter, though there may be others. This story does not take into account the events of book 7._

_As always, feedback of all kinds is highly appreciated. I'd especially like to hear what people think about this fic, because it is rather experimental._

_ Many thanks to **sine** for beta-reading this.  
_


	2. January of 1938

** 1938:**

Everything might have been all right, too, except that Marcus Scrimgeour lost the March elections, and the new Minister of Magic, Pellham Smith-Pinkersley, was not interested in antagonizing Grindewald, or in losing out on the very profitable business relationships that he and his associates shared with the man.

Marcus Scrimgeour retired to the country. Crastor Moody was replaced as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Tiberius Malfoy returned to his Manor, though it was well known that he kept one finger firmly on the pulse of things at the Ministry.

Nick tried twice to see Smith-Pinkersley, but the second time, he was reprimanded for breaking the chain of command, so he didn't try again. In late 1937 he was switched to the Department of International Magical Cooperation at Harold Bagman's request, though the man himself hadn't said two words to him since he arrived. Nick had been assigned to the American desk - a sort of punishment all on its own, in his opinion - but he kept his head down and did the best work he could. He missed working for Ian McGillis.

For his part, Tiberius Malfoy missed being actively involved at the Ministry. Life at Malfoy Manor was idyllic, if one's idea of idyllic had been cultivated by membership in a family of wizards whose interests over the centuries had ranged from Dark Grey to Dark. Tiberius, however, was not the sort of man who enjoyed peace and quiet. He always had the option of involving himself in Muggle politics(1), but to take such a step merely to alleviate his boredom would be drastic, and was at the moment unnecessary. Besides, given the current climate, it might well cause unwanted complications.

No, it was better to sit calmly at home and sow seeds of doubt by owl and private interview. Smith-Pinkersley was the worst kind of fool, and Tiberius planned to do everything in his considerable power to see that he lost the next election.

* * *

(1)The Malfoys had been given their original grant of land from the first William, for assistance that was never recorded in any Muggle or magical history(+). The land came with a title, which the Malfoy heirs have seldom used save to maintain their land, but Tiberius (who involved himself heavily in Muggle politics from 1939 until his death in 1954) "lived and breathed politics, and boredom was for me the worst kind of torture." ( Millroy Parkinson: Tiberius Malfoy: Statesman and Slytherin, pg. 146) 

(+)It is rumoured that this assistance involved the use of several Dark curses of the worst nature aimed at the most opportune of times at certain of William's opponents. This has never been proven, and several wizards of the time were challenged to duels - and killed - by the first Lord Malfoy for suggesting such a thing.

* * *

_Author's Notes__: This is really being written as self-indulgence. I've always been fascinated by politics, and the idea of a WWII-era AU has been in my head for years. Some characters from the books will make an appearance, though in AU form; namely, Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter, though there may be others. This story does not take into account the events of book 7._

_As always, feedback of all kinds is highly appreciated. I'd especially like to hear what people think about this fic, because it is rather experimental._

_ Many thanks to **sine** for beta-reading this.  
_


	3. April of 1938

**Malfoy Manor  
**_April 29, 1938_

By the end of April, Scrimgeour had gotten worried enough to call an emergency meeting of his inner circle. The guest list read like a Who's Who of the political elite. Scrimgeour himself may have been ousted by the electorate, but his advisers were the sort of men who knew how to make themselves indispensable in any administration, and over half of the Ministry's departments were represented at the dinner meeting by either their head or deputy head. As all of them moved in the same social circles, the conversation centered on parties and hunting expeditions until the house-elves had finished clearing away the meal and left the room.

"Gentlemen," Scrimgeour said, and the murmur of conversation ceased. "You all know why we are here. I would like to thank Tiberius for the use of his table and his provisions."

"A pleasure, Marcus," Tiberius Malfoy murmured. He had ceded his place at the head of the table to Scrimgeour, and sat instead at the man's right hand.

"We have a decision to make," Scrimgeour continued, "and a course of action to decide upon. We must decide if we are willing to be thrust unprepared into battle, or if we are to act now, and risk everything we possess in order to save everything that we hold dear."

"You say that as if there is a difference between the two," Tiberius Malfoy said dryly.

"There is," Scrimgeour said. "Or do you not rate your freedom higher than your possessions, Tiberius?"

"If you are about to make the proposal I came expecting to hear," drawled the man to Scrimgeour's left, "we are all about to risk both, and on your say-so."

Pure-blooded and extremely wealthy, Orion Black had for years been the single most influential voice inside the Ministry of Magic. He was also one of the few men present who was not already securely in Scrimgeour's camp. Black considered himself and his position to be above political intrigue, and generally behaved accordingly. His presence at what was undeniably a partisan meeting was proof that he was seriously concerned with the current government's behavior.

"Indeed," Scrimgeour said bluntly. He turned to Malfoy. "Tiberius, I would not insult you by asking if your wards are secure --"

"Doubly so. I checked them myself before we sat down."

"Thank you." Scrimgeour looked down the table. "Gentlemen, if there are any here who do not have the stomach for treason, I ask that you leave now. There will be no retribution."

"Of course," Orion Black added calmly, "I will personally curse any man who repeats what has been or will be talked about in this room until he no longer resembles a human being. The changes, I assure you all, will be permanent(1)."

No one moved.

After a moment, Scrimegour continued. "It has become obvious that the Muggles will be at war within the year. It is also looking extremely likely that, in Germany at least, wizards will be fighting alongside them. Grindelwald's behaviour is no longer open to any other interpretation. Hostilities are about to begin, and our current government is stumbling blindly through the dark. They have given us no sign that they have even the ability to cast _Lumos_, let alone that they will know what to do when the fires of war inevitably break through their self-imposed blindness.

"At that point it will be too late. History will have passed us by. We will have been judged cowards and incompetents, and judged aright. If we are to spare ourselves the censure of future generations, we must act. If we wish to ensure the freedom of those generations, we must act. We must act, and act now, or within five years every one of us will be calling Grindelwald 'Master.'

"We must move swiftly and boldly, because we will get only one chance -- and this applies to our opposition of the current government as well as to our resistance of the Germans. We do not possess the power to force Smith-Pinkersley out of office legally. The elections are not for another two years, and by then, I repeat, it will be too late."

"Overthrow by force," Crastor Moody interrupted. "That's what you're suggesting?"

"Did you really expect to hear anything else?" Orion Black snapped. "After all, none of us were sorted into Hufflepuff, were we? Let's hear legitimate objections, if there are any, and not imbecilic confirmation of facts we are already well aware of."

"Well?" Scrimegour asked. "Objections, anyone?"

"Not an objection, exactly," said a man at the end of the table. "Simply a thought." Kevin Potter, deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, adjusted his glasses before continuing. "When we do this, we must do it carefully. Smith-Pinkersley may be willfully blind, but he is not an idiot. He may not notice German treachery, but he'll certainly notice the domestic variety. We will all be risking not only life sentences in Azkaban, but government seizure of our property as well."

"And what, exactly, do you think that Hansel Grindelwald will do, should he successfully conquer Europe?" Malfoy sneered. "Pat us on the back and hand us all Chocolate Frogs? They'll throw us in Azkaban and seize everything we own just for being at this meeting, Potter, and you're worse than a fool if you think otherwise."

"I am fully aware of the consequences of my actions," Potter said stiffly. "Still, there is a difference between the risks of plotting sedition and carrying it out. I am merely saying that as we are determined to act, we should be equally determined to act wisely. Otherwise, we might as well do nothing."

"We must use magic," Orion Black said.

Scrimegour was torn between annoyance and gratitude that the man had spoken first. The use of magic on one's political opponents had always been taboo, and he had not been looking forward to telling this particular group that they would have to break that unspoken rule. He'd expected an outcry, and indeed some of the men around the table, particularly Crastor Moody, looked as if they would speak, but Black rolled right over their objections.

"It is the only way to be certain that we succeed," he said flatly.

"The precedent it would set -- " Percy Longbottom began.

"Hang the _precedent_," Black said impatiently. "Is there anyone here who feels himself incapable of defending himself should we be attacked in our turn? I thought not.

"However, if we try and fail, you can all be certain that no one else will be willing to follow in our footsteps -- and that Grindelwald and his pet Muggles will have their victory."

* * *

(1)It was rumoured even then that Orion Black was adept in all forms of Dark Magic. No evidence has been found to either prove or disprove this theory, and no member of the Black family has ever been willing to comment on these - or indeed, any - of the rumours that persistently attach themselves to the Black name

* * *

_Author's Notes__: This is really being written as self-indulgence. I've always been fascinated by politics, and the idea of a WWII-era AU has been in my head for years. Some characters from the books will make an appearance, though in AU form; namely, Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter, though there may be others. This story does not take into account the events of book 7._

_As always, feedback of all kinds is highly appreciated. I'd especially like to hear what people think about this fic, because it is rather experimental._

_ Many thanks to **sine** for beta-reading this.  
_


	4. December of 1938

**February, 1939**

By the early spring of 1939, the crisis in Europe was rapidly approaching a boiling point. Muggle armies were being mobilized across the continent, and international relations were so tense that they vibrated. The average European Muggle was convinced that war was only a heartbeat away.

In the Wizarding world, things were quite different. There was no real sense of urgency among the general population; in fact, a record number of British wizards chose to vacation on the Continent that summer. The Smith-Pinkersley Administration had its head firmly in the sand, and as the presses were beginning to fall under Ministry control, no 'alarmist' articles ever made it to print.

That did not mean that _Times_(1) reporters were not investigating the situation in Europe. Though the paper's management was already beginning to submit to the governmental regulations that were so notable in the recent Second Crisis, investigative journalists have always proven an extremely difficult group to control, and the best of them will find a way to get their stories into print no matter what obstacles stand in their way. The pre-eminent journalist of the age was of course the American Edward R. Murrow, but as he had chosen to make his impact felt in the Muggle presses rather than in Wizarding ones, he had little effect on on the popular perceptions of Magical Britain, at least until the beginning of the Blitz.

* * *

(1)_The Wizarding Times_ was Britain's only newspaper from 1754 until _The Daily Prophet_ rose to supremacy during the Grindelwald War, due largely in part to their emphatic refusal to accept the increasingly stringent government restrictions placed on the press, save where it concerned matters of national security. 

It is perhaps ironic that the _Prophet_ originally began as an underground newspaper, only to evolve into the same sort of propagandist publication that their founders heaped such scorn on the Times for becoming during the lead-up to the Grindelwald War. (Colin Creevey: The Daily Prophet: From People's Champion to Ministry Mouthpiece, publ. 2001)_  
_

* * *

_Author's Notes__: This is really being written as self-indulgence. I've always been fascinated by politics, and the idea of a WWII-era AU has been in my head for years. Some characters from the books will make an appearance, though in AU form; namely, Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter, though there may be others. This story does not take into account the events of book 7._

_As always, feedback of all kinds is highly appreciated. I'd especially like to hear what people think about this fic, because it is rather experimental._

_ Many thanks to **sine** for beta-reading this.  
_


	5. March of 1939

**The Leaky Cauldron  
**_March 2, 1939_

Remus Lupin, British citizen, hadn't been to England since he'd been bitten by a werewolf at the age of ten. His parents, unwilling to put him at the mercy of Britain's draconian Department of Werewolf Control, had moved to Europe immediately after the attack, and Remus grew up on the Continent, home-schooled by his mother while his father went from capital to capital on assignment for the _Times_. Remus, whose hero-worship for his father knew no bounds, had grown up to follow in the man's footsteps, and had been hired by the _Times_' Berlin offices only a few days after turning eighteen.

Five years later, he was almost ready to quit. The increasing restrictions as to what he could and could not write were not only irritating, but offensive to his ethics. Unfortunately, the Times was Britain's only wizard-run newspaper, and that left him with a profound lack of options - unless he wanted to work for a European paper, which he emphatically did not.

Still, thirteen years as a werewolf had left him used to making compromises, and at least working for the Times kept him in hotel rooms and restaurant-cooked meals. He could also move from capital to capital as assigned, and never stayed anywhere longer than three months. So far, no one had guessed his secret. Remus planned to keep it that way.

He was less than pleased by his newest assignment. Not only would a return to England make keeping his secret more difficult, but events in Europe were coming to a head, and he desperately wanted to be there to record them, whether or not his accounts ever made it to print. He wasn't remotely interested in Smith-Pinkersley's latest foolishness, not while Hansel Grindelwald was mucking about in Berlin with a swastika on his arm.

The first thing he did upon his return to London was to go to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. The carefree, unconcerned atmosphere was disorienting and, given the events he'd recently witnessed in Europe, almost unbelievable. The only two people in the whole pub who looked as if they had more on their mind than their drinks were two dark-haired young men close to his own age. They sat with their heads together over their pints, and spoke in low whispers and with serious faces.

Remus watched them idly, a niggling sense of familiarity tugging at the back of his brain. When the nearer of the pair turned around to glare fiercely at him, he figured out what it was. The man's handsome, aristocratic features and pale grey eyes identified him as clearly as if he were wearing a name-tag, and after a moment, Remus recognizes the bespectacled features of the second man.

Schooling his features to a careful blankness, Remus turned back to his pint, but his calm face belied the question now burning in his brain. What was Orion Black's eldest son doing in a pub with James Potter? Potter's father, Kevin, was Orion Black's greatest - perhaps only - political rival, and for Sirius Black to be sharing a pint with James would be strange even without all of the whispering.

Of course, given that Sirius Black was known mostly for his society-page excesses, and that James Potter, who was first-string Seeker for the Chudley Cannons, moved in the same circles, it could have been nothing more than a friendly drink. To Remus, who'd been in and out of Berlin for the past twelve years, their grim faces and low, intense voices screamed 'conspirators' from a kilometer away, especially as they'd both made it clear on earlier occasions that they were continuing their fathers' feud.

Remus considered his options. When Black glared at him again he made up his mind, picked up his pint, and went over to take the empty seat at their table.

Sirius Black could do 'haughtily offended' every bit as well as his father could. "Excuse me," he began.

"You're excused," Remus told him. "You're also quite obviously planning something, so unless you want to tip off all of London, I suggest you stop acting like a pair of particularly paranoid revolutionaries."

"We're not--" Potter began, but Black cut him off.

"How did you know?"

Remus rolled his eyes, inwardly hiding his elation at the confirmation of his suspicions. "Please. The pair of you have been at loggerheads since school, at least if one believes the _Times_. Add that to the adversarial relationship between your respective fathers, mix in the fact that I've just come from the Continent and so have an eye for conspiracy, and it's pretty damned obvious."

Potter winced. Black's face was unreadable, and Remus was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the danger he was in. Then Black smiled ruefully, the expression surprisingly charming.

"He's got us, Potter. Some conspirators we are." He slanted a look at Remus through surprisingly long lashes. "You've got me at a disadvantage, though. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Remus Lupin." He took Black's hand, then Potter's, trying not to betray the slight flutter in his chest that he felt when Black ran a thumb briefly over the back of his hand.

"I'm Sirius Black; this is James Potter. Let me order you another," he added, with an elegant wave at the bartender. "Did you say you'd been overseas? Where have you been?"

"Germany, mostly," Remus said. "I've been back and forth between Munich, Berlin, and Nuremberg for the past four years, not counting the occasional trip to Paris or Vienna." He wasn't sure why, as chance had given him the best inside scoop he's ever likely to have, but something compelled him to add: "I work for the _Times_."

"A reporter?" Potter looked wary, Black delighted.

"Sort of," Remus admitted ruefully. "They never print anything I write."

"Let me guess," Potter grinned. "You've been covering the Grindelwald situation. The Ministry's not anxious to have the truth of that get out."

"For the Greater Good," Remus said sarcastically. Black looked as if his birthday and Christmas had come early and simultaneously.

"You've got to meet my father," he said. "He's really keen on making sure that people know what's happening on the Continent."

* * *

_Author's Notes__: Okay, explanation time. As this is an AU, Sirius was in Slytherin, and James was in Gryffindor, so they weren't exactly best friends at Hogwarts. Sirius was in Slytherin because at this point, the Muggle-born vs. pureblood issue is not the all-consuming issue that it was by the 1970's. The pure-blooded families felt less threatened, and as a result were less reactionary, making it easier for Sirius to toe the family line. Also, during this time period, the idea of rebelling against one's parents was much more shocking than it was in the 70's.__ This story does not take into account the events of book 7, though there will be the occasional (minor) spoiler for it._

_As always, feedback of all kinds is highly appreciated. I'd especially like to hear what people think about this fic, because it is rather experimental._

_ Many thanks to **sine** for beta-reading this.  
_


	6. February of 1939

(part V)

The Scrimgeour-Black Coup took place in February of 1939. Despite its bloodless nature, it was one of the swiftest and most ruthless acts of rebellion in British political history. Scrimgeour, by virtue of making an appointment to see Orion Black, was well-placed to step into the Minister's office as soon as his colleagues acted at the Wizengamot - and act they did.

The takeover of the Wizengamot was accomplished on February 3, 1939. The session opened normally, and business was conducted as usual until exactly 9.15, at which time the conspirators knew that Scrimgeour and Orion Black would be inside the Ministry and meeting with Smith-Pinkersley. At that point, Tiberius Malfoy rose to ask for the floor, interrupting a debate on whether or not to allow the use of Boggarts in the interrogation of suspected criminals. Ordinarily, even Tiberius Malfoy would not have been recognized, much less allowed to speak, as he was not a member of the Wizengamot; however on 3 February, Kevin Potter had the chair and he signaled to Malfoy that he had the floor.

As he rose to speak(1), every eye was upon him. The men who had gathered at Malfoy Manor only a few months earlier were not the only ones who were worried by the stance taken by their government. Many of the members of the Wizengamot would have contributed to the conspiracy had they known of its existence. (2)

"Ladies(3) and Gentlemen," Tiberius Malfoy said, "Allow me to offer both my apologies for the interruption and my thanks for permitting it. Rest assured that I would not venture such an impertinence if the issue on which I must speak were not the most urgent we have faced in generations. As I am sure you are all aware, the Muggles in Germany have begun a process that must inevitably end in war. What you may not be aware of is the fact that German wizards are planning to march beside them." He paused to wait out the unhappy and startled murmurs from his audience, but ended in having to raise one hand for silence.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please," he said, his voice cutting through the babble of the crowd, "allow me to continue."

"Has anyone contacted the German Ministry?" Alister Lestrange demanded.

"Of course not," Tiberius Malfoy sneered. It was a masterful bit of political theatre, as the ordinary course of action would of course have been to contact the German Ministry. That such a practised statesman as Tiberius was heaping scorn on the idea went a long way to convincing the Wizengamot of the severity of the crisis(3).

"Might I inquire as to why?" Lestrange asked, the ultra-polite tone of his voice an insult in itself.

"Of course," Malfoy answered. He, too, was poisonously courteous. "We have not contacted the German Ministry because Hansel Grindelwald is still in a position of influence within its ranks. Before anyone makes the objections that I am sure are just waiting on the tips of your tongue, let me add that Grindelwald has been spotted in a Muggle uniform and at the side of the Muggle leader by no less than five Ministry agents over the past two years. Thanks to the dangerously irresponsible behavior of the current government, it is possible that the Germans believe us to be as unprepared as we seem. I am hardly about to throw away one of the few advantages that we have."

"What do you propose we do?" Kevin Potter asked. As he had the chair, he should have been the only one to question Malfoy. The strategy had been very carefully worked out.

"I am proposing nothing," Malfoy said. "As I speak, Smith-Pinkersley is being removed from office at wandpoint, and Marcus Scrimgeour is resuming his position as Minister of Magic. The Wizengamot is hereby dissolved. Elections will be held three weeks from today. Anyone who wishes to cooperate with the new government is welcome to run for re-election; however, be assured that we will be using Veritaserum and other methods to test all candidates for ties, legal and illegal, to the German government and economy."

"This is outrageous!" Robert McGillis sputtered.

"This is the way it is going to be," Malfoy said flatly. "This government will continue until the war's end. If you do not wish to be a part of it, you are of course welcome to resign your position. Active opposition will be considered treason, and will be treated as such. Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen. By the end of the year, we will be at war -- and we _will_ be prepared."

* * *

(1) It is worth noting that Lord Tiberius Malfoy is the only non-member of the Wizengamot ever to speak to that august society without being shouted down and/or pelted with hastily conjured vegetables. Some historians believe that this was due to his extraordinary presence. Those who were present that day, however, are nearly unanimous in stating that the Wizengamot's tolerance was based largely on the fact that they were already concerned by Germany's aggressive behavior. (For further reading on this topic, see Milroy Parkinson's Tiberius Malfoy: Statesman and Slytherin, Alister Lestrange's Battle and Diplomacy: My Twelve Years in the Wizengamot, and Kevin Potter's Inner Workings of the Wizengamot, Vol. 1 (1929-1949) ) 

(2) Kevin Potter: Inner Workings of the Wizengamot, Vol. 1 (1929-1949), pg. 322; publ. 1978

(3) There were at this time only three women seated on the Wizengamot. Most speakers did not bother to add 'and Ladies'; however, Lord Malfoy never turned down the chance to make a potential ally.

(4) Alister Lestrange: Battle and Diplomacy: My Twelve Years in the Wizengamot, pg. 152; publ. 1956


End file.
